Knight and Dryad

In times past, when the sun seemed to grow cold and civilizations abated, it fell to just a few to keep the flickering ember that was knowledge from fading.

Thou no longer did legions enforce rule from lands afar, the calendars, religion and language of both church and scribes remained on par. Outside the church and scribes only a few knew the magic of written words.

Unlike today, it came to be the task of minstrels to spread the tales which held sway as news of the day. So it came to be that the story of Knights and the Dryads became a minstrel’s stay. Therefore it is with no rhyme nor reason, do I shout out, the story your about to hear about.

Knight and DryadRecounted by Dean Vandeusen, novice bard

A score and four days into the month named after the scion of the Roman gods did come the Wedding festival and the strange happenings of which did a single minstrel recount.

Not just any minstrel, but one who had once been a wood worker’s apprentice. One who formed the mighty long bows of the huntsman and archers of the keep. Indeed he is still known by the name Fred the bender, but an apprentice no more. Injured, now his legs almost useless, he turned to skills he had learned long ago, as a child growing up. His fine voice, memory and skill with stringed instruments did endear him to a passing musical troupe and Fred’d Bender the minstrel is now he.

Of the evening in question, none now is written. The festival, a celebration of marital union between two keeps, the groom and the bride, perhaps cousins it was said. To the betrothed the date had little meaning, except that the sun would shine long, the better the party it would make. The church when quarried had no problems with the date, but of clerics of a more pagan religion would have known, the night was special and all involved should have been warned.

The great day came and went, brethren far and near with their loyal nobility did attend. Of the lesser nobility, the knights and the guards did fall the responsibility of keepers of the peace, the bouncers you might say.

As the sun set on the day’s festivities, dancing lights and shadows were cast upon the marry throng by torches lining the surrounding meadows so vast.

It is not known now when, nor to where, the wedding party and the merrymakers retired, but as the midsummer’s night moon did raise the air did cool and treadles of fog did arise and from the surrounding forests did lasses appear, attracting the attentions of knights and soldiers near. Among the lasses and armed men did pass the liquid of the moons bright repast.

The shining orb westward moved, first high than low, meanwhile each man and lass did also lay low. When the glowing orb now of pealed orange sank below the treetops, the forms of the loving couples faded, both knights and lithe spirits disappeared.

On the ground so fertile and sweet, sprits and spirits with the men did mix, their bodies of dust and bone they did shed, their own spirits were now to be spread, of wood nymphs and forests they become.

Now around the castle keep, where once meadows did surround, saplings with new born guardians enfolded, abound.

Now this tale from times lost to the past, is now but song for a singer to spread delight.

As the last of the evening’s light fades, the ex-woodworkers apprentice, Fred d’ bender sings out in nasal twangs, a minstrel’s warning,

Of wasted dryads and wasted knights, a tree from you is left behind… for you are no longer of man, your heart belongs to something else…